Attraction
by PennEternity
Summary: "It's too bad you were joking, Professor.  I could've been your greatest adventure." and other twisted stories.
1. A Question of Ethics

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

Cho leaned nervously against the stone wall. Her hands were sweaty, her pulse racing and already her cheeks were heating up to a fetching shade of crimson. She peered around the corner. The door to his office stood ajar.

_Go time._

She made her way down the corridor, clutching her books tightly to her chest. A deep breath, then-

"Um, sir? Can I ask you a question?"

The man at the desk looked up. His face showed none of the surprise she might expect from another teacher, but was rather still calm and serene.

"Of course, Cho," Remus Lupin said, gesturing to the chair that said perpendicular to his desk.

_Contact established. Move in._

"Well," Cho said, working her way around the desks to stand in front of the professor. She didn't sit. "I was working on my essay last night, you know, the one about the ethical problems with beast definition and the negative overtones that may or may not related to it, and I was thinking that maybe I'm not the best person to judge on this issue, because I'm not a part-human, so how do I know what they feel, because it strictly relates to their dilemma. I mean, maybe they like being considered beasts and not beings, like centaurs do, and I don't understand the best way to describe this as an impartial observer becau-"

Cho stopped. She was suddenly horribly self-conscious of the fact that her ponytail was slightly askew, and her collar was twisted, and that she had been rambling. Professor Lupin was watching her. He wasn't quite able to hide the faint smile that had spread across his face.

Cho's face matched precisely the shade of a boiled lobster.

Remus Lupin rubbed a hand across his eyes. "_Are_ you an impartial observer?" he asked, looking up at her with- Cho's stomach flipped- his warm, soul-searching brown eyes.

_Ummmm. Think, girl. Think. _

"Sir?" she asked.

"Cho," Remus Lupin said, and his entire being seemed to speak with that one word. "I am not asking about the best way to describe part-humans in an impartial sense. I'm asking you what you feel. We just spent one month discussing the various part-humans defined as beasts: veela, centaurs, merpeople, werewolves, vampires, and giants. Now tell me how you think they should be classified. Tell me what type of creature you believe they are." Remus Lupin gently touched her chest, right over her heart. Cho was sure he could feel her racing heart.

_Brain to mouth, brain to mouth. System overload! Er- OHMIGOD!_

Abruptly Remus Lupin moved away from her, as if scalded. "Is that all?" he asked, his toe slightly sharper.

Cho couldn't think of any words to say. She nodded mutely. He smiled at her. "Make sure to include examples," he said, sitting down, the very picture of a boarding school teacher, albeit one nwith several more gruesome scars then average and a constant aura of general ill-being.

_Crap. Crap. Losing contact. Re-establish. Something cool. Something cool._

"Uh, sir?" Cho asked. "I- er- I- wanted to say- erm- see you next class?"

_The Hindenburg. Hiroshima. The Valentine's Day Massacre of 1981. _

"I'll see you next class," her teacher said, smiling. "Goodbye, Cho."

"Bye," she managed.

Somehow, Cho managed to weave her way around the desks and out the door. She leaned against a wall, feeling her thudding heart rate return to normal.

Cho buried her head in her hands.

_Epic fail._

_

* * *

_

Remus Lupin watched the girl practically run out of his classroom, her long black ponytail swinging in time with each stride. He felt his chest muscles relax slightly. An influx of air slid into his lungs.

He wondered if she knew. After all, the girl reminded him of another child, astonishingly bright and fearless, but so utterly tongue-tied and blushing roses around their fancies. He found himself inexplicably drawn to this shadow of an old friend.

* * *

The next time Cho entered the Defense room, Professor Severus Snape was sitting behind the teacher's desk.

**A/N: This story was inspired by Starkid's "A Very Potter Sequel." If rou are a poor, blighted individual who is unfamiliar with the A Very Potter Musical et al franchise, go check them out. Seriously. They are totally awesome. Tee-hee.**

**Please Review. **


	2. Cats and Dogs

The crow feather quill absentmindedly wound its way around his mouth, tracing the edge of his lips. Almost unknowingly, his lips opened, and a pink tongue curled around the tip of the quill. Fingers drummed against the wooden desk, with the initials JP+LE burned into the corner. His eyes shut. His lips closed around the quill.

"Blechhh!" Sirius yelped, spitting and scratching at his tongue. "What did you put on this?"

James smirked, an evil smile across his face. Spinning around, Sirius saw Remus' shoulders shake with suppressed laughter, and Peter made no effort at all, sniggering away. Sirius turned purple with rage.

"You bloody bastards! What was that? You ruined my sucking quill!"

Remus choked, and then howled with laughter. James sank down in his seat, one hand covering his eyes, entire body swaying precariously. Peter was crying with glee.

"Merlin help me, I am-"

"Mr. Black!" A sharp voice cut through Sirius' unworded threat. Swiveling to face the front, Sirius saw with sinking heart Professor McGonagall stalking up the rows between desks. Sirius felt distinctly mousy.

"What on earth was that horrible screeching about," she said, peering down her sharp nose at him, lips thinning.

Sirius put on a semblance of cocky normalcy. "My dear Minnie," he said grandly. He was king, addressing his adoring subjects. "These fools and wankers-"

"Black!"

"I mean, ignoramuses- coated my quill with the most vile of substances. And just when I was closing my mouth upon the feather to help with my thinking process, I got the most horrible shock of disgustingly nasty flavor. Those three deserve to be beaten with a ruler, or some other painful device-"

"Give me the quill." McGonagall's voice cut through his monologue.

"What?"

"Quill."

Nonplussed, he handed it over. Next to him, James leaned forward, eyes fixed on McGonagall. Remus was perfectly still holding his breath. Without even looking, Sirius could tell Peter was gnawing on his fingernails.

McGonagall studied the quill, her eyes narrowed. She smelled it, nostrils flaring. Finally, reluctantly, she licked an edge, an edge where Sirius had not spread his saliva. She licked again. Frowned.

"Mr. Black," she said, glaring at him, "There is absolutely nothing on this quill. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class."

Sirius gaped at her. His friends were snickering softly into their hands. He looked down doubtfully at the quill, then, warily, placed it in his mouth again.

"EUWWWW!"

"Black! Detention!"

* * *

Sirius stormed up the stairs to his dormitory after suffering through a painful two hours of cleaning bedpans in the hospital wings. His arms were achingly sore.

James glanced up as he entered. "Alright, mate?" he asked, with the traces of a smile around his face.

Sirius threw a pillow at him.

Peter looked over. "That bad?"

Sirius grumbled. He rolled onto his bed, then asked, "What in the name of Merlin's tighty-whites did you put on that thing?"

Remus's head popped up from the parchment it had been buried in. "That," he said, in his best "Professor Moony" voice, "is for me to know and you to never find out."

"Why-"

Remus seemed to anticipate the question. "Because you would use it for nefarious purposes."

"What, like getting your BEST MATE in trouble because his quill tasted like shit?"

"Duh." James, who, Sirius noticed, was sitting in lotus position on the floor. "Now shut up. I'm trying to concentrate."

Peter leaned over. "He's pretty sure he's a kitten," he said, in a loud, carrying whisper.

"Tiger," James said, "Ti-ger."

Peter snorted.

Sirius scowled at the thought of cats. Stupid McGonagall. Stupid cats. God, they were so uppity and selfish, and always treated you like servants, and did they ever need to be taught their place. Sirius though about cats: he hated them. They reminded him of his mother. How much would he love to scare a cat, traumatize it for life like McGonagall had done in second year, suddenly turning into a human four inches in front of Sirius' nose. Stupid, bloody, caterwauling, fiendish. . . .

The world changed colors.

Sirius couldn't remember what he had been moaning about. _Cats, _he thought_. Rip. Bite them. Scare them. Stupid smelly cats. _His friends suddenly seemed very far away, but he could hear their every move: the soft sound of paper on paper, the shift of James' robes, the creak of the bedframes as Peter sat up.

"Bloody hell," he heard James say, his voice seemingly louder than before, "He's a dog."

* * *

A tabby cat trotted along the roads of Hogsmeade, keeping a keen ear open for whispers and plots of Death Eater plans and misbehaving students. As it rounded the corner of main street, leaving little paw prints in its wake, the cat heard a joyous, rough bark echo against the rooftops. Bounding through the snow, pink tongue dangling against thick fur, a giant black dog came running directly at the cat. With a screech and a hiss, the cat turned tail and ran.

* * *

Years later, Sirius remembered he once hated cats. But the cat that sits cozied up upon his chest refuses to move. He stares into Lily's eyes, Lily's eyes in James' face in their son Harry. The cat won't move. The eyes are livid.

**A/N: There really is a chemical that only some people are capable of tasting. It is called phenylthiocarbamide, also known as PTC. Partly inspired by discussion of magnets and opposing forces.**

**Please Review. Constructive criticism encouraged.**


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